Draumr Kopa
by times-a-tickin
Summary: Mortally wounded, Eragon confronts the ultimate journey: death. But what he finds surprises him, and forces him to reflect on all that he has accomplished and caused in his spectacular life.
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Hey everyone! I literally haven't posted on here in years, but my recent re-reading of the _Inheritance Cycle_ has gotten me all stirred up and wanting some juicy fanfiction. **

**Sorry to those of you who were following some of my other stories which I just kind of ditched. I have never been, nor will I ever be, a good writer, so when confronted with writer's block I just kinda quit.**

 **This story is mostly some jumbled up thoughts I had, and I'm going to try and make them work as I move forward with this. No promises on continuity or quality, but I will do my best.**

 **That being said, I want this story to involve the readers a little bit more than usual. This first chapter is just a prologue, but once we get into the meat of the story, I would love some suggestions from you guys on different things to incorporate. Like I said, I have a lot of vague ideas that I want to work into this narrative, but tying it all together is going to be difficult for me. So please, throw me a bone if you see the opportunity for interesting stuff. Like I said, this will really make more sense after a chapter or two.**

 **Last thing, sorry. I would be remiss if I didn't mention I drew from many influences for this. Firstly, and obviously, Christopher Paolini and his characters. All of that belongs to him and I am so grateful he brought the _Inheritance Cycle_ into the world. Next, of you haven't already, please listen to Logic's album _Everybody_. Even if rap isn't your ting, it has a lot of great social commentary and a surprising amount of philosophy in it. The narrative of that album is based off of a short story originally posted to Tumblr (I think) but the way it is presented in the album is amazing. And finally, but certainly not least, a certain chapter from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ also influenced me a lot. (This will also make more sense around chapter 2).**

 **Alright guys, please enjoy!**

* * *

 _I am dying_ , thought Eragon.

Of course he had thought of death. After fighting in bloody wars, practicing deadly magic, and living with dragons for decades, death was always a possibility. But nonetheless, the prospect frightened him.

A shiver passed through him as he felt Saphira's pain. A brief glimpse into her mind showed her diving off a nearby cliff, in a hurry to be by her Rider. Even from nearly a mile away, Eragon could feel her pouring energy into him.

However, even Saphira couldn't stop the unbearable pain in his chest. The knife had been so well placed, slipping between his ribs and skewering his heart. Even now, he could feel the blade embedded in his chest cut the organ further, as his heart continued to flutter.

He decided that leaving Saphira was his biggest regret. They had been inseparable since that fateful day in the Spine, all those years ago. Just as he could not imagine a world without her, he knew she would feel the pain of his passing. Grimly, he recalled Glaedr's conscious after having lost Oromis, and hoped that Saphira would be able to recover.

After all, there was so much more to be done. In the 95 years since they had left Alagaesia, Eragon, Saphira, the Eldunari, and the handful of elves with them had accomplished much. Yet there were still only a dozen riders, and barely two dozen wild dragons. Du Fell Hvitr, the city they had inhabited, was barely the size Carvahall had been.

The thought of Carvahall reassured him in a grim way. At 112 years old, he had outlived his family and friends. Roran and Katrina had died almost 40 years ago now, Even their children, Ismira, Garrow, and Eragon, had passed. Eragon faintly recalled a great-grandchild being born. _Marian is her name_ , thought Eragon. Nasuada was also dead, as with Orrin, the former king of Surda. The last remaining was Orik, and even he, at nearly 160, was approaching the end. His father, Brom was dead, killed by the Ra'zac. And poor Oromis, slaughter by Galbatorix. _At least I can see them all again._

A yelp called Eragon's attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man slump to the ground, his head rolling beside his body. It was the one who had stabbed Eragon. His beheader, Blodgharm, was sprinting towards Eragon's prone body, with three other elves.

Eragon had enough energy to smile. There was no way to fix this wound, yet he knew the elves would use all the magic at their disposal and more in an attempt to save him.

A groan escaped his lips as the knife was pulled from his chest. Eragon heard a distant apology, almost like they were in one of the caves of Farthen Dur, and an echoed shout had reached him. He heard more murmurs, probably as the elves prepared to work their magic on him, but with each second the sounds became more distant and softer. Even the roar he heard from Saphira as she landed might as well have been on the other side of the world.

No, Eragon decided. He had one other regret. He wished he could have seen Arya one last time. What he would have given to be with her one last time. Even throughout the years, the longing he had for her hadn't lessened; only been covered up as he delved into other pursuits.

The world around him grew sharp again as Saphira flooded him with another gust of energy. However, even that quickly escaped, like the blood flowing out of his chest. Eragon knew he didn't have the time or energy to tell Saphira everything he wanted, so rather he sent images, feelings, and ideas across the connection they had shared for so long now. He wanted her to not forget him, but also not to grieve, and continue to work to save both the Riders and the wild dragons. He wanted her to be happy, learn from the Eldunari and teach the young dragons that were the future of her race.

As he died, Eragon felt the world pitch around him, and then nothing.

* * *

 **Hope you guys liked it! This is just a prologue, but I always welcome constructive criticism! If the plot doesn't make sense yet, give it a chapter or two please. If you still hate it, well then I guess we don't have to be friends.**


	2. Awakening

**Hey everyone!**

 **Here's the second chapter (or the first if you consider the prologue chapter 0). It's a bit short and most likely will be disappointing, but I promise there will be a big revelation next chapter.**

* * *

Eragon felt the most remarkable and inexplicable sensation: nothing.

There had always been something: the pressure of the ground against the bottom of his feet, the wind in his hair, light shining in his eyes, a general feeling of hot or cold. But all of that was gone. Even as he tried to focus on one sense individually, sight, it bewildered him. He couldn't see anything. It wasn't too dark, and his vision wasn't blank, but rather it was as if the concept of vision was gone. The same was true for smell, touch, and hearing.

There was just nothing.

* * *

After what seemed to be many years, or perhaps it was only a few seconds, Eragon felt.

He felt his stomach drop, as if he was on Saphira and she had just gone into a free fall. After so long in limbo it felt good to feel something, anything.

Gradually, he seemed to drift back to reality. When he dared to crack open his eyes, he was shocked.

He saw the same sky he had seen as he died. The same trees framed his vision, and the pale blue sky of a cloudless day served as the background. He turned his head to the side. He was still in the glade where he had fallen.

He turned his head the other way and gasped. There was Blodgharm, hovering over his chest. The three elves were slightly behind him. And Saphira was there too, wings outstretched as if she was just landing.

 _Am I still alive?_ thought Eragon.

"Did you save me?"

No response.

In fact Saphira and the elves didn't move at all. Saphira stood several feet away, her wings looming large over the glade, her back feet on the ground. She didn't move a muscle. Blodgharm too was stoic, seemingly intent on Eragon's chest, not so much as flinching when Eragon waved a hand in front of his face. The other elves too, were not moving.

 _Strange_

Even as Eragon gingerly stood, Saphira and the elves didn't move a muscle. It was like they were frozen by magic. Eragon spared a look around. The whole scene might as well have been a painting. No wind rustled the leaves. No birds chirped or flapped in the sky. In fact, there were no sounds at all. Eragon turned back to Blodgharm. He was holding the knife that had been buried in Eragon's chest. About a hand's length beneath the tip of the knife floated a single drop of blood, suspended in space.

 _It's as if time is stopped for everyone but me_ , realized Eragon.

Eragon walked a distance before turning around to take in the scene. It was only then that he saw his body laying on the ground, right where it had been, underneath Blodgharm's gaze. His face was awfully peaceful, but he couldn't overlook the large gash right over his heart. Blood continued to pool around his torso, soaking the light workout tunic he had been wearing.

 _So if I'm on the ground over there, what body am I in right now?_

He glanced down at his own feet and saw the same boots he had been wearing earlier. Except now they were slightly transparent. Eragon imagined that if he kept looking really hard, he would be able to see through his boots and feet and see the patterns on the ground. Eragon raised his hands in front of his face, and saw they too were slightly see-through.

 _This is too weird_.

Determined to awake Saphira or the elves somehow, he took a step towards them. Just then, to his side, he heard a noise, almost like a pluck of a stringed instrument. Eragon turned sharply, ready to confront whoever, or whatever, was there. But he saw nothing, just the treeline at the edge of the clearing.

The sounds continued, morphing from isolated notes into a song that resembled a bawdy dwarf tavern songs Eragon had once heard.

Eragon hesitated, unsure of what to do. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to find a way to awake Saphira and elves. Having his dragon with him was always reassuring, and the more backup the better, he thought. However, if he was right and time really was frozen, then there was nothing he could do to wake them, and it might be best to find the music and hope whoever was making it knew what was going on.

Reluctantly, Eragon turned his back on his friends, and headed into the forest.

* * *

 **There ya go! Hope you guys liked it!**

 **I always welcome constructive criticism and ideas. I will try to have the next chapter done by Monday and up shortly after that!**


	3. Who Are You?

**This is the big chapter! If you don't like this one, well then I guess my story sucks!**

 **(Check out the AN at the bottom for a special fan contest!)**

* * *

For what seemed to be the one hundredth time since he had gotten out of bed that morning, Eragon was in a state of shock.

After leaving Saphira, Blodhgarm, the other elves, and his own dead body in the clearing, Eragon had walked through the forest, looking for the mysterious music. Although it had sounded very close, Eragon had walked for half an hour until he happened upon another clearing. It lay in the shadow of a small mountain, which just so happened to be the nesting place of the wild dragons. Just as he entered the clearing, Eragon glanced up and saw the shape of a medium sized dragon preparing to fly off the cliff at the top.

But what shocked him was not above him, but rather in front of him, in the middle of the glade. There was planted a large oak tree, and leaned up against the tree was a man.

The man was like no one Eragon had ever seen. Even sitting down, Eragon could tell he was short. He had brown skin, that looked wrinkled and thick, almost like he was made of tanned leather. He had a bald head, but a thick, white, long beard that reached mid chest. He was shirtless, but wearing a pair of loose white pants. His feet were bare with thick callouses, showing he was bare footed often. In his hands was a small instrument with four strings.

As Eragon entered the glade, the man was sitting with his eyes closed, gently strumming the instrument. He paused for a moment, as if trying to listen to a far away noise, and then continued to strum.

Eragon cautiously approached, trying to decide what to say. _Should I ask him who he is? Maybe he knows what is going on here. What is that bizarre instrument called? What if he doesn't even know my name? Should I introduce myself?_

The old man chuckled, set the instrument by his side, and opened his eyes to see Eragon. "I certainly know who _you_ are Eragon. And, in response to your other question, this instrument here is called the ukulele. It is a remarkable instrument, because it always seems to sound good, even when I mess up. Here, listen."

And at that, the man picked up the instrument, the ukulele, and started strumming. After a few measures he started to hum. The song was simple, but it captivated Eragon. He found himself swaying along, despite his confusion and desire for answers. Then the man started to sing.

 _Somewhere over the rainbow_

 _Way up high_

 _And the dreams that you dreamed of_

 _Once in a lullaby_

 _Somewhere over the rainbow_

 _Blue birds fly_

 _And the dreams that you dreamed of_

 _Dreams really do come true ooh oh_

 _Someday I'll wish upon a star_

 _Wake up where the clouds are far behind me_

 _Where trouble melts like lemon drops_

 _High above the chimney top_

 _That's where you'll find me_

 _Oh, somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds fly_

 _And the dream that you dare to,_

 _Oh why, oh why can't I?_

When the song ended, Eragon was surprised to find himself with his eyes closed, swinging back and forth. He opened his eyes to see the man smiling at him.

"Sit down young man."

Eragon complied, matching the old man's cross-legged posture. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Eragon dared to speak.

"Who are you?"

"Why that's an awfully philosophical question. I assume you want to know my name?" Eragon nodded. "Well that too is a complicated question. I have been called many different things. What you call me mostly depends on who you are."

"What does that mean? Your name is a part of you, not me. It doesn't matter who I am."

"Not necessarily. Think of Saphira. Do the deer that she hunts call her Brightscales? Do you call her murderer and beast? Do you think the common townspeople call her partner of my heart and mind? Names depend just as much on who is using them as who they belong to."

Eragon frowned. He had thought it was a basic question, but somehow he had just ended up more confused. "Alright then, what is going on here? Why is everything frozen?"

"You guessed correctly earlier. Time is frozen. I find that this is the best way to introduce myself and the situation to people."

"Wait wait wait. You've done this before? You can just freeze time? Who are you?"

The man sighed. "We'll get to that, all in due time. I will make an arrangement with you. Since I know you are a curious man, I will answer any question of yours, after you answer a question of mine."

"Why should I? I don't even know who you are, but you seem to know everything about me!" Eragon was getting more and more frustrated. He just wanted a straight answer. He had just died for god's sake!

The man's face softened. "I know this is a tumultuous time for you. But you must believe me when I say that this … um … lets call it an experience, is for you, not me. I want nothing but the best for you. Please trust me."

Eragon reluctantly quelled his anger, and used one of the calming breathing techniques Oromis had taught him so long ago. Even though he lacked lungs currently, it still seemed to calm him.

"Alright, I guess I have no choice. Go ahead and ask a question."

The man seemed to brighten, and clapped his hands. "Good! Let's get started. My first question is: Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?"

Eragon paused. He hadn't thought about his physical state since awakening. He realized he was hungry, despite being dead. "I am hungry. Do you have any food?'

"That's an excellent first question!" exclaimed the man. He waved his hand in the air and bread, cheese, wine, and assorted fruits appeared in the air and gently floated down to the earth.

"That wasn't my questi- … Oh whatever." said Eragon. The food would make him feel better, he hoped.

"Have some food."

Eragon reached for the bread and butter. Despite his annoyance, he did genuinely enjoy the food. It felt nice to eat something. Just the action of putting it in his mouth, chewing, and swallowing was comforting. As he was munching on an apple, a realization came to him.

"Wait a minute! You asked two questions at the start. You said 'Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?' I should get another question!"

The man seemed to giggle. "Very good! Almost no one picks up on that." He reached for a grape and popped it in his mouth. "Go ahead and ask a question."

Eragon thought for a minute. He had to be careful with what he said around this … this … clown. _Ha!_ he thought. _I like that name for him_. Just as he had that thought, the old man chuckled.

"Wait," said Eragon, "can you hear my thoughts? I don't feel you in my mind."

"Yes, in fact I can hear your thoughts. It's one of my many abilities of mine, along with the conjuring of the food and freezing time. As to me being in your mind, it is not so much a question of me being in your head, but rather being a part of your thoughts."

Eragon opened his mouth, once again more confused that he was before. But before he could say anything, the man interjected. "All will be explained in time. You are so close to the right question which will make all very clear. In the meantime, it is my turn. Are you angry about your death?"

Once again, the question made Eragon pause to think. "I would not call it anger. Rather unsettled, and of course I am confused now. I don't know who stabbed me, so that too, is confusing. But I think everything will be alright. The dragons will return and the Riders are in good hands, with the eldunari. So no, not angry."

The man seemed happy again. "That's good! Most people are remarkably angry when we talk, so the fact that you are past that already will mean we make much faster progress. Go ahead and ask your question."

Eragon sat for several minutes. He had to get real information this time, not more meaningless nonsense. Then again, if he was dead, then theoretically he had all the time in the world. But wait, if he was dead, shouldn't he be meeting Guntera, or falling into the Void?

At that thought Eragon froze. Very hesitantly, he asked, "Are you God?"

And the old man smiled.

* * *

 **Hope you guys liked it! If you like this, then don't worry, it's gonna get even more weird and philosophical.**

 **And now, a special fan contest. In the first chapter (the prologue) you may have realized I named the city of Riders 'Du Fell Hvitr.' I'm quite proud of this name, because I didn't just pull it from the back of one of the Inheritance Cycle books, but it still means something. If anyone can tell me what Du Fell Hvitr means, via PM or review, they will get to name a very special character! So get searching!**

 **As always, I welcome constructive criticism or feedback of any kind!**


	4. What is God to a Nonbeliever?

**Sorry for not updating so long. I have commitment issues. Also, congratulations to Potato Tomato for winning the contest! Your characters name will be featured in the next chapter.**

 **Without further ado, here's chapter 3!**

* * *

Of all the things that had happened to Eragon that day, this was perhaps the least surprising. Being dead, he supposed it was more likely than not that he would encounter a deity.

Thinking hard, Eragon tried to remember the legends of death and afterlife he had heard. In the dwarven religion, it was said that when you died, you went to dine in the halls of Morgothal with their patron god of smiths. Many of the humans Eragon had met, including those he had been raised with in Carvahall, believed in the god of death: Angvard. When one died, their soul was weighed by Angvard himself, and if was too heavy, they would fall into his kingdom to dwell for all of eternity. Although Eragon knew very little of the Urgal religion, other than they worshipped a variety of deities, led by Rahna, the mother goddess. Of all the beliefs Eragon knew concerning death, only the elves did not place faith in one god or another; they instead believed that your soul fell into the Void.

Regardless, being face to face with a god was fairly unsurprising given the circumstances. What was remarkable was that this god appeared more like over-tanned leather than a powerful deity.

"God is just one of the things I have been called," said the old man.

"Wha- …. Who?" Eragon stammered. He wasn't sure exactly how to frame the many questions that were bolting across his mind. "What god are you? Surely you aren't Guntera or Morgothal? Are you Angvard, here to determine the weight of my soul?"

The old man smiled. "I am all of those, and none at the same time."

"What does that mean? You can't be someone and not be that person at the same time. Are you one of the dwarven gods, or a human one? You can't be one of the Urgal gods. Or are you someone else entirely?"

The man sighed, and suddenly there was a flash of light much brighter than the sun, making Eragon turn away. When he turned back, he was surrounded by six figures. The one in front of him had the stocky appearance of a dwarf, but was well over 12 feet tall and had four arms. One held a massive war hammer, seemingly made of pure diamond. Another held an elaborate unrolled scroll, with symbols Eragon could not read or seem to remember. The third was held out to the side, and a gigantic eagle rested on the wrist, seemingly poised to take flight. The last hand was empty, an fist held to the side. The figure was dressed in a dark armour, with jewels that mirrored the stars in the night sky. On his head was a crown, remarkable for it simplicity, as it was just an iron circlet that rested on his brow. Despite the intimidating figure peering down at Eragon, he could not seem to break his gaze.

Eragon dropped to his knee. Surely this was Guntera, the king of the dwarven gods. And the others must be Helzvog, Kilf, Morgothal, Sindri and Urur. But even as his knee hit the dirt, Guntera started to laugh.

"Is this what you want Eragon? A greeting by the council of dwarven gods?"

Eragon looked up to see Guntera walking toward him, but already shifting and changing: shrinking to shorter than Eragon, losing his elaborate armour in favor of loose white pants, and skin turning from weathered stone to browned leather.

Before Eragon could say anything, the old man said, "Or would you rather be falling into the void."

And as the old man finished his sentence, Eragon was jerked backwards. The world vanished into a pinprick of light from above, and Eragon felt himself falling, falling, falling. He turned to see a massive spiral of black, accentuated with only the darkest shades of purple and blue, spiraling below. He felt himself dissolving, not just his body, but the very essence of himself, what it meant to be Eragon.

And then he opened his eyes and he was back on solid ground. Only now he was surrounded by an army of Kull. Each one of them knelt towards the gigantic figure standing on a large outcropping of rock: a forty foot tall female Urgal, dressed only in a thick ivy that covered her breasts and groin. As she looked down at Eragon, her mouth curled into a smile, flashing huge incisors at him.

"Or would you like the privilege of meeting Rahna and serving in the vast legions of Svarvok?" spoke the figure, now recognizable to Eragon as the Urgal mother goddess.

But as Eragon blinked, trying to take in the scene, the army vanished, along with Rahna, and was replaced with the old man again. They were back in the clearing, even complete with the man's instrument leaning against the tree.

Eragon dropped to his knees. "Wha- … What just happened?"

"This has always been tough for me to explain to mortals, as they lack the broad vision required to grasp it," started the old man. "I am not Guntera or Rahna or God, but rather all of them."

"But in reality you're just a crotchety old man?" replied Eragon.

The old man laughed. "No, this is simply how I choose to look for you at this time. If I wanted to, I could be an elf, a mountain, or even a dragon. But I like this appearance, it is comfortable and modest. Making conversation with a dragon isn't as easy for everyone as it is for you my friend."

"So did you create me? And everyone else? Are you all powerful?"

"Straight to the big questions I see. Well, to start, yes I created you, and everyone else. But not in the way you think. And, I am not all powerful, yet I can create anything I want."

"So could you have killed Galbatorix?" asked Eragon. "You could have ended the war so much sooner, and saved so many lives!"

"I created you, and you killed Galbatorix. So technically, didn't I kill him?"

"Well you also created him. Why would you do that?"

The man smiled. "I'll answer that a little later. Let us discuss something else. I think it's my turn to ask a question now."

Eragon frowned, frustrated. _Why wouldn't he just answer his questions?_ "Alright," he said begrudgingly. "Ask away."

The man sipped from a glass of juice, that Eragon only just realized was there. _Just conjured it up out of nowhere._

"Is there an afterlife?"

Eragon nearly spasmed with anger. Why was he asking him this? Literal God was here in front of him, yet he wanted Eragon's thoughts?

"I know what you're thinking," chuckled the man. "Why am I asking you this? I am supposedly an all knowing deity, shouldn't I know the answer? Moreover, shouldn't I just be able to read your mind? Well I'll humour your unspoken questions and answer them. First, I have not read your mind since I first did. I find it intrusive, and not much more than a fun 'party trick.' Additionally, I like talking to people, seeing what they say and how honest they are with me. And with one as experienced as yourself, well surely you see that discussions like this don't come along everyday, so to speak. Now if you would humour me, please answer the question, whatever you believe."

Eragon sighed. "My beliefs are hard to verbalize. My whole life I have tried to be practical, and focus on what I can influence. Only when I first started using magic, and those…" Eragon gulped. "...close to me started dying, did I start thinking about an afterlife. But as it is impossible to bring someone back from death, I found it a better use of my time to focus on more… concrete applications." Eragon paused, thinking of Brom, Oromis, and all those close to him that had passed over the years. "My philosophy is that there may be an afterlife, there may not. But it's not something I can experience, influence, or connect with. At least not until now."

The old man played with a length of rope, which again he had seemingly drawn out of thin air. "That is an interesting ideology. In another universe, some would call you an agnostic: someone who believes nothing can really be known about a higher power."

Eragon nodded. "Well other than Saphira, I have yet to see evidence of a higher power." He paused. "Well there was one time at Farthen Dur…" mentioned Eragon, thinking of Orik's coronation almost a century ago. "Was that you?"

The man shrugged. "I sometimes dabble. It's nice to have believers."

Eragon sat back, leaning against a tree stump. For what seemed to be the thousandth time, he reflected on how bizarre this was, sitting face to face with this all powerful… old man. How many others had been here before? Galbatorix, Brom, Oromis? Had they all had their private sit downs with the old man.

Sitting upright with a jolt, Eragon spurted, "I have my question." The man nodded, tying a fancy knot in his section of rope, then suddenly pulling both ends, revealing a unkinked length. "Do you talk with everyone who dies?"

"Yes," was the response.

"Why? Why do you take the time to talk to everyone when you can simply read their mind?"

"That's two questions, but I'll give it to you. I find that talking is a more effective way to find out what people want than reading minds. Especially since I am such a practiced… talker. What I want from them, … Well I'll reveal that later."

* * *

 **I'm not very happy with how this chapter turned out. Nonetheless, I always welcome criticism. Thanks for reading!**


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